Oh, I so absolutely find that trees have different personalities. And they never tell you their real names. That's not to say they tell a false name. But in order to know their real names one would have to be locked inside them - like what happened to Merry and Pippin. And no one wants that.

So we find content with the muted words that they speak (with beauty) of their names, which change in the speaking. Like bark and leaves. While in winter they are the least muted, and speak of their inmost rings, and you would swear they are revealing themselves, but no.

O Mary conceived without sin,

Saint Charbel

Saint Therese of Lisieux

Saint Mutien-Marie Wiaux

Pope Saint John Paul the Great

Saint Josemaria Escriva

Blessed Oscar Romero

Max Beckmann

Beckmann's Self-Portrait with Horn

Andrei Tarkovsky

Stalker

And they said to the mountains and to the rocks, "Fall on us and hide us from the presence of Him Who sits on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb; for the great day of their wrath has come, and who is able to stand?

Stalker

While they were talking and discussing together, Jesus Himself drew near and went with them. But their eyes were kept from recognizing Him. And He said to them, "What is this conversation which you are holding with each other as you walk?"

About Me

"Now that everyone who yearned to wear long pants/
has essentially achieved them,/
long pants, which have themselves been underwear/
repeatedly, and underground more than once,/
it is time perhaps to cherish the culture of shorts,/
to moderate grim vigour/
with the knobble of bare knees,/
to cool bareknuckle feet in inland water,/
slapping flies with a book on solar wind/
or a patient bare hand, beneath the cadjiput trees,/
to be walking meditatively/
among green timber, through the grassy forest/
towards a calm sea/
and looking across to more of that great island/
and the further tropics."
--From "The Dream of Wearing Shorts Forever", by Les Murray